Limping human, hindered dragon
by TigressPL
Summary: A written sequel to the movie, taking off a few months after its end. As Hiccup and Toothless's bond strengthens, new discoveries begin to be made. What fate will the Aesir bestow onto them? Rating may change later on.
1. Stargazing

Come on, man, think positive. Think axe, muscle and fame. Think gliding through the air. Think Astrid, I know you want to think Astrid, just catch the idea and go on… One scene at the time? Imagine her the day she first confronted Toothless. Anxious to learn my secret, fierce and ready to do anything necessary to win…

Bah, it's useless. No thoughts can be of much help when you have to clench your eyes shut in order to even try and fall asleep. I might as well…

With a silent groan I sit up and let my eyes open to the surrounding darkness. Nothing is amiss, no sound brakes the winter silence, save for the usual – fire crackling in the fireplace downstairs, wind howling outside while trying its best to breach the defenses of thatched roof and wooden walls, creaking of the building, peaceful breath of sleeping Dad. Somebody might suggest that I am tied to consciousness by the temperature, as even inside the fire-warmed house my breath is coming out as a white mist. This isn't the case, having spent a lifetime in Berk I'm pretty much as used to the cold as anyone – therefore, in spite of having almost no fat to keep me protected, I feel comfortable under a thin duvet. So what is keeping me awake? I have no idea. Maybe I just need to get a breath of fresh air.

I throw the cover off dully, slide my legs to the side of the bed and put them on the floor… with a thud. Cursing the forgetfulness under my breath, I listen closely if Dad wasn't disturbed by the noise, but he seems to be sleeping as sound as he has before. Now more carefully, I stand up and limp towards the stairs, putting my whole weight on the healthy leg and placing the other down slowly and delicately. Having reached the stairs, I smile at my own resourcefulness – this is something I've figured out a long time ago, how to descend them without making a sound. I simply lie on my side and slide down, holding the artificial limb in the air. After months of being used that way, the wood doesn't obstruct me anymore. Several more steps and I'm at the door. I glance back, at the huge figure of Dad sleeping in the room before quitting swiftly, trying not to let the cold breeze inside.

There is no source of light outside – whatever shine gets out from the homes through doors and other hollows doesn't really count; and however bright the moon glows, it's never able to provide such an effect as this present at hand – and yet visibility is far better than indoors. Almost as though the snow were fluorescent. I see no one, which is really no surprise. It's quite cold and late – and since the dragons ceased to be the constant threat, there's no need to keep guard at every time of day and night. None of them appears to be around either – they usually spend nights in their old nest, craving its natural warmth. Whenever temperatures rise, there's an abundance of them sleeping in every possible place in the village, but now it's far too cold. We even tried to keep some of them home - unsurprisingly I was the first to propose such thing - but we soon learnt that was not enough heat to please them. The lesson came the hard way and cost us two houses burnt after the inside dragons decided to enhance their sleeping places by breathing some fire around.

I inhale deeply, realizing _post factum_ that whole my effort was actually counter-productive, as I'm now wide awake, contrary to what I hoped to achieve. Perhaps going back to the coziness of my bed would do the trick now? Deciding that's probably the best shot, I turn around to put this plan to life, but before I can push the door to get inside, a sigh reaches my ears, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. I would recognize Toothless's voice everywhere. But can it be? He's nowhere around, I would spot him immediately on the white background, plus if he were here, he would surely let me know directly. Nah, it must have been an illusion. I shiver as the coldness really kicks in and once more try to go back home, but the possibility of my best friend being around doesn't let me proceed.

"Tooth-thless?" I call silently, my teeth starting to dance on their own in the chilly air. There is no response, which only confirms my doubts. That must have been a gust of wind which I misinterpreted for some inexplicable reason. "Toothless?" I ask again, anticipating no answer though. And yet, it comes, the same barely audible sigh. I scrutinize my surroundings again, but sure enough he's not anywhere to be seen. I make several steps away from the house, even though my bare foot protests against stepping into the snow. But I don't care anymore since the movement allowed me to see the long black body sprawled atop our roof. "Toothless!" I repeat for the third time, with a mixture of happiness and fear this time.

The apprehension only deepens after there is no reaction to my call. He just continues to look blankly towards the sky, his large eyes half-closed and filled with emotions I cannot yet discern. Why would he ignore me after coming here? The only reason for leaving the lair must have been to see me. He must suffer in the cold. How long has he been sitting there? I wouldn't know.

Moving as fast as my prosthesis would let me, I close in on the side of our house. Once there, I climb some empty barrels, which in turn enables me to reach the steep surface covered with straw. Clinging to every curve available, I haul myself onto it, searching desperately for a point to stand my leg against. Neither the bare foot nor the metal one are able to give me any support, sliding on stalks flattened by wind, rain and cold. My hands are slowly giving way, unable to hold my whole weight for so long. What's more, even despite my minimal weight I am slowly proving to be too much for a bunch of dried stems. I am about to let go and start over as a familiar elongated black shape comes in contact with my arm. In a flash I reposition my hands and embrace Toothless's tail. With no apparent effort, he pulls me to the top, but still does nothing to appropriately acknowledge my presence.

I crawl towards his more communicative end, using his body for support in dearth of other ways, all the while pondering over this strange irresponsiveness. He breathes steadily and I can find no visible wound on his scale-covered body as I advance forward. Only after I situate myself on his slightly risen neck, stroke it and utter his name silently does he glance at me before refocusing his greenish eyes on the moon and producing the same sound that got my attention in the first place.

Another gust of freezing cold wind blows past us, making me shudder. After several minutes spent outside without any proper thermal protection I really begin to feel the chill getting to me. In a futile attempt to gain any warmth, I nestle against the dragon's long neck, but to no avail - the shivering continues. Feeling his muscles shift underneath myself I don't even have to look back to know when he raises his right wing. I gladly accept the veiled invitation and wiggle my body into the shelter he offered. His soft scale feels wonderful and as he tightens his wing against my back I immediately begin to feel snug, but the concerned gaze he's giving me doesn't escape my attention and so I smile to reassure him. He nods lightly and resumes the seemingly absent-minded staring.

I follow his example and observe the moon. There are no clouds today and it's getting close to the full moon, so the whole sky shines and twinkles. Steady surface of surrounding ocean only doubles the effect… So why is he so disconcerted? Though he doesn't look at me, from my current position I have a clear view at his eyes and it's evident that his dominating emotion right now is sadness. It bothers me endlessly. After all, he's my best friend…

We're flying towards the moon. I don't remember putting the saddle on Toothless, but there's too much joy in this common flight for me to delve into the matter. I click the pedal, he looks at me with an understanding smile and arches his body back, beginning a wide somersault in the air. I feel my hair standing up as Berk moves over my head and adjust the foot once more, thus making Toothless dive wildly. We're plummeting with an insane velocity, joined by infinite trust in each other. In the right moment I change the direction of our fall, his wings do the rest and instead of crashing against one of the homes we glide over its roof, so close I could rip a straw from its top.

The hamlet stays behind as we find ourselves over the bay. Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice calling me by my name. Looking around, I'm quick to spot Astrid standing atop one of the Guardians – huge stones with caverns facing the outer sea, carved so that they resemble Viking heads with fire burning in their mouths, its shine allowing ships to reach our island safely under any weather conditions. I have no idea how she got there or what purpose she had to climb it, but it doesn't matter to me much.

From the corner of my eye I notice abnormal abundance of fog beneath us. It is really uncommon for such a massive cloud to gather here. Toothless must have spotted it too, because all of a sudden he becomes very uneasy, emitting apprehensive shrieks. As I try to figure out what could move him to this extent, a deep, distant bellow resounds from below. Before either of us has a chance to as much as think there's nothing that could produce such a noise normally found in the bay, an enormous head emerges from the fog and approaches us with purpose made clear by fast opening jaws. I reposition the pedal as fast as I can and yank the saddle upwards. Toothless helps with all his energy, but it's already too late. Everything darkens as rows of deadly teeth win the upwards race and shut around us.

"Noooooo!" I scream, waking up with a start. In an involuntary reflex, I kick Toothless in the ribs, making him stir noticeably and fold his wings. Now fully awake, I feel my body bump against the quasi-soft straw cover twice before hitting the ground, hard. Pain shots through my whole body in a flash, but I don't scream as my mouth is full of a mixture of snow and ice I landed upon. There is a concerned squeak that could only be emitted by one creature and a loud thud right afterwards. I feel my friend touch me gently with his head, trying to turn me over. I struggle to help him achieve it, then sit up and spit the snow from my mouth. Before I have as much as a chance to examine my body for any broken bones I must fend off his delight-filled affectionate gestures. It takes a while, but once he's done cuddling to me I slowly stand up and make sure every part of my body is in working order. Fortunately, it is so, as I had the luck of falling on the right side of our home, where nothing lay.

It's morning already; I must have fallen asleep in Toothless's embrace and spent the whole night fondled tightly by him.

"Okay, bud, you up for a little morning exercise?" I ask with an indiscreet yawn, scratching the curiously extended head and getting a gleeful burble in response. Glad to have made this appointment, I turn to get all the gear from my room. In all sincerity, I would love to run all the way, but I don't even have to be reminded about my disability this time. This isn't going to stand in my way of having a lot of fun though. Without a care in the world about the noise this time, I push the house's front door open to find Dad awake, moving about the room.

"Hiccup!" he exclaims in wonder upon seeing me. "I was sure you must still be sleeping, son. Any plans for the day?"

"Yes," I confirm, already halfway up the stairs. "Let me just collect my stuff and I'm off for a morning flight 'round the island with Toothless!" I add enthusiastically, picking up the saddle with all the necessary cords, straps and buckles and putting my aviator outfit on – right after the fur coat, of course. It's the lack of it that's made me so uncomfortable the previous night - before Toothless decided to share his warmth with me, that is.

"I wish you all the best winds," he says, squinting his head into the room – he doesn't even need to stand on the steps. I can feel the ever-present uneasiness in his voice. I got used to it; ever since I was five and it became clear to him I'm not going to turn out like all the other young Vikings it was a constant reminder of his disapproval and letdown. As of recently, he lost the attitude, but the uneasiness remained. Not that I'm surprised – we never had much to talk about, so neither of us has much skill to even try and mend this particular hole. "But… if you would like to spend some time, you know… with me…" he stutters and I can't help smiling, never having expected him to be the first to reach a hand.

"Sure, why not," I agree, turning around, at which point he promptly clears the passage for me. I slide down the stairs with the saddle tucked underneath myself. Not that I care about the noise; it's just so much faster than making those shaky, awkward steps while balancing on the "leg". I see Dad smile and rub his hands, surely thinking of a good way to seal the conversation.

"That's great," he finally says. "I will see you then, son."

"It's a deal," I promise and leave the house, eager to set off for the appointed flight. Sure enough, there is a black dragon sprawled right in front of the door, waiting impatiently for my return. Without a further delay, I place the saddle in its place and start to fasten every single strap. Once it's finished, I grab the cord linking the steering pedal with Toothless's artificial tail fin – the lame making the two of us look like one person in two bodies. Of different species, that is.

First, I have to undo a knot on a rope already tied around his tail. It's a recent addition, allowing Toothless to fly even without my help… theoretically. It's still not easy for him, since the fin is unresponsive to the muscle movement, relying entirely on mimicking it's counterparts actions instead - but it's better than nothing. It took him some practice, but I believe he has already mastered it to the maximal extent allowed by such a crummy device. Other arguments aside, he can safely make it to the dragons' lair and back, hunt and perform some simple maneuvers while mid-air. It's not much, but I think he accepted his fate. Nevertheless, I can imagine why every time I propose a common flight he reacts with nothing but unspeakable enthusiasm.

I hop onto the saddle and barely have time to put my leg in the pedal before he takes off, beginning today's adventure with a wild barrel roll hardly ten feet above ground. Fortunately, I'm used to his infinite supply of energy and join what is unmistakably a cry of sheer joy. With two strong flaps of the mighty black wings we gain altitude and fly away from the village. A glance at the bay makes me shiver inwardly, though contrary to the dream I had, there's no fog down there. I have little time to think about that, however, as we rise even higher, right into the cloud cover. Now, flying in the chilly, crystal-clear winter air is one thing, but finding yourself inside the snow-bearing clouds is something entirely different. Before we emerge from them on the other side I am already frozen to the bone, but for the astonishment that awaits us there, I believe it to be worth it. It's like we entered a different world, totally independent from ours. The clouds are stretching in every direction as far as the eye can see and above them there's nothing but pastel-blue sky with its single brilliant eye. Every time I turn, I almost expect to see the rainbow bridge of Bifrost and entrance to Asgard.

We fly around for a while, practicing the usual turns, rolls and somersaults, but it soon bores both of us, so after a sharp turn Toothless folds his wings and straightens his entire body. Knowing perfectly well my part in this move, I draw myself as close to his neck as possible. If I didn't, the force of air pressing against my chest would definitely throw me off the saddle, possibly killing both of us – with his fin off the blocking rope, he's almost as helpless in the air as I am. But we know perfectly well what to do and so the air roars around us as we plummet with increasing speed towards the still surface of the ocean.

There is no feeling to compare the free fall with, when you suspend any control you have over your body and simply let it dive, having no fear in the world. It's describable only in fictional comparisons, like the whole system deciding to ignore every external impulse but those evoking sheer euphoria.

About thirty meters before imminent crashing into the sea we join efforts to level the flight and use the energy gained during the descent to rise back into the air, then our usual play begins. I replace the pedal to enforce Toothless performing some maneuver – and he proceeds with something entirely different. The effects vary from even, unaffected flight to unexpected back-flips. The idea for such a pastime originates in the times when Toothless would fight my every effort aiming to steer him. Adapted as a repetitive means of entertainment, it's actually very useful too. Thanks to such practice, we can be prepared to face the consequences of misunderstanding the other's plan for our next move. Should such a need arise anytime again, I believe we will be more than ready to engage enemy mid-air. But I doubt it – we've made peace with the dragons, what more could threaten us?

Judging by the position of the sun, it must have taken us several hours, but eventually we feel tired and agree to go back. I honestly expected him to land back where we took off from, but Toothless apparently decided it would be more fun to try something new, so in an out-of-the-blue stunt he semi-alights on a roof of a random house, uses his momentum to jump onto another one's top and so on. After the fourth leap he turns sharply and jumps headfirst to the ground, spinning around just in time to set down gracefully on all fours… back where we took from, I must admit. Still, I won't be able to walk straight for at least a quarter.

Feeling a tad queasy, I dismount him, unlatch the saddle and re-block the artificial fin to allow Toothless to move by himself. He utters a goodbye shrill and flies away – to catch some breakfast, I think, for right now I'm hungry like a wolf. There was a time we used to feed him, but soon after he grasped the basics of flying alone again he started to refuse to eat the provided food. Most likely, he didn't – and still doesn't – want to lose the hunting skills by having the meals delivered for himself.

"I'm back!" I yell, entering the house with a heap of equipment in my hands.

"You must be hungry, huh?" asks Dad, standing up from the seat in front of the fireplace he must have occupied ever since I settled out.

"Yeah, let me just grab a snack and we can be off to whatever you've planned for today."

"That won't be necessary," he replies, taking the saddle and harness from me, reaching up and throwing them onto my bed. His help must have speeded the whole process at least five times.

"Thanks," I say sincerely. "But what do you mean it won't be necessary? I'm starved, riding a dragon is a tiring activity, however easy it might look from earthbound perspective."

"No, I don't doubt you've exerted yourself! I just packed lunch already," he answers, gesturing to a basket standing in the corner, right between two fishing rods, giving me a pretty clear idea of what the afternoon is going to look like.

"We're going fishing?" I ask for the sake of the conversation.

"Yes… is that good for you?" he says, the usual uneasiness kicking in. I can't imagine how amusing it must be for others to watch our relationship, based seemingly on the belief that your interlocutor is made of fragile china and an inappropriately stressed syllable can break him to pieces.

"Sounds like fun," I respond, putting more heart to it than I actually have for the idea. It may not be as fun as spending time with Toothless, but if it's a step towards enhancing our relation, so be it.

"Splendid," he beams, then collects everything and looks at me expectantly. I take the clue and start for the door as fast as one and a half leg can carry me. He closes it behind us and joins me almost immediately. No more words follow, but I think he is as content with this silent one-to-one as I am.

We stroll down Berk's main road, stretching all the way from the port, branching out to reach every single abode and ending a furlong above the highest-placed home, belonging to the Elder. I observe with some amusement the teeny wee steps Dad has to make not to outrace me – what with my much shorter legs, not to mention the limping. To him it must appear almost as though he were standing still, moving at such pace. Even when not at haste, he can cover nearly two yards in a single step – now it's taking him twenty to do so. It's downright admirable how far out of his way he's ready to go not to make me feel like I'm a burden to him.

Every passer-by greets us affably and we both respond with similar cordiality. I exchange salutary nods with Snotlout and a handshake with Fishlegs several minutes later. We're already on the last straight section of the path as we come by Astrid. I catch a mixture of emotions running through Dad's façade, though he quickly composes himself. It's not a mystery what must have crossed his mind: first, pride upon seeing one of the best proofs of my recently elevated status, then resignation with a shade of contempt after realizing I'm probably going to choose her company over his and cancel the trip. Well, he was wrong to assume that and I'm going to prove it.

"Hey there," my girlfriend (the title having been official for quite some time already) cheers, subsequent to verbally bowing to Dad, then hugs me _affectionately_ – and still manages to nearly choke me. Talk about delicacy among Vikings. "I hoped you would be around, you could join me in-" feeling Dad's heart sinking in the proximity, I put a finger to her lips.

"I'm sorry, but not today. I have an important matter to attend to with my father."

She glances at him and finally notices the equipment, quickly taking the hint. "I see," she says with understanding. "I'll see you around later then, huh?"

"Indubitably."

As she wanders off, I turn to see Dad gleaming. To warm his heart even further, I grin and hint that we continue by resuming the seaward motion. As we near the pier, he increases his pace, no doubt to prepare the boat. I cannot follow his actions with my eyes, forced to focus entirely on placing my metal appendage in the middle of every plank to avoid getting stuck in-between. Normally, my speed is one of an old snail, here it situates slightly above a dead one's. Nonetheless, I reach my mark and take a seat in the vessel already occupied by Dad. Even though all the luggage lies next to me, the lack of balance is evident. He takes the cue and repositions himself so that his bulky torso put most pressure on the middle part of the boat. Thus prepared, we set sail – more like "set row" to me, but who am I to question the idiom?

They say sea is a Viking's most powerful elemental ally. Let's see how this works out for the two of us.

* * *

Well, there it goes. I'll try and limit the author's notes to the minimum, seeing as I could easily type in a thousand or more words here.

I'm positively stunned by how fast I've written it - on the course of less than two days. Continuation will most definitely follow, although I'm not setting any deadlines.

Sadly, I limit the sources of influence to the movie, having little access to the books. Therefore, the whole plot might vary significantly from original continuation of HTTYD - if it doesn't, it's by a simple coincidence. I **will **introduce the story with certain aspects of the written version, but I'll be choosy as to which additional information should I use and which to omit. Seeing as the movie differs from it's basis, I think it will come out acceptably.

What do you think?


	2. Bonding

After a moment of gazing at the boat rocking calmly in peaceful waters, Astrid turned around with a faint smile. To see those two finally bonding was as pleasant to observe as it was anticipated by everyone on Berk, but it also meant that she needed to find something else to occupy herself for the day. For a moment she tried to come with a good plan, but soon understood having recreational ideas wasn't her strongest point. Tossing the lot of useless concepts aside, she noticed how far she managed to get in her reverie. There were familiar faces all around – who wouldn't remember a hundred or so men if they rarely met anyone else? What took her increased interest were the things they were occupying themselves with.

There couldn't have been much change despite the recently formed alliance, since the raids only provided "entertainment" once every week or so. But somehow she had always associated every other activity as being either part of preparation for further fights or reparation of the damage caused by the former ones. Every childhood struggle was a training of strength, agility and speed, every hour of practicing armed combat a rehearsal before the inevitable duel against a dragon. Not even to mention the whole course every teenager went through in the Ring. If one wasn't fending off a fire-breathing beast or learning how to do so, they were usually raising new houses or restoring the ones still amendable to order. Or building ships. Or caring for the sheep and other sources of sustenance. Even learning the runes had it's only meaning in being able to take in written instructions on fighting the beasts. Every single fiber of everyday's life was devoted to, influenced or driven by the need to oppose the enemy.

Before now she had never given it much thought, but deep down, as she discovered, she had really believed everybody's lives would be care-free and blissful the moment the dragons were gone from existence. In a rare streak of sarcasm she asked herself what she had thought they would be doing then – and couldn't find any answer. In the meantime, reality provided her with one. Basically, nothing changed. People went to sleep at ease, night guards were reduced to a minimum and there was no battle since the one in which the heroic duo had brought down an enemy a hundred times their size. Astrid regarded the last point as arguably positive, mostly because it made her almost useless. Whole her life was about preparing to continue the war, now she was beginning to feel like a piece of jewelry, meant to do nothing but look pretty at Hiccup's side. That wasn't true. Or was it? She decided to postpone the decision, feeling truly uncomfortable pondering this topic.

Trying to avoid self-scrutinizing, she unconsciously switched back to the previous train of thoughts. It was unbelievable how little doubt was given to the whole alliance. Uniting against a common enemy didn't make much sense after said enemy has been defeated, but that didn't stop Stoick from admitting the whole species onto Berk with all the hospitability it had to offer. How could he, for one thing, switch from mutilating every spotted dragon to treating them like charming pets? All this after generations of war traditions. Not that she wasn't partially glad the deal had been made, but her hand still itched for the handle of an axe every now and then upon seeing one of those creatures and she refused to believe anyone who has ever drawn the beasts' blood could feel otherwise.

As if on cue, a fat Gronckle landed about a hundred feet ahead of her. Her hand twitched, but she refrained herself from drawing the axe – it was not even on her back. In this light, she mused, the whole argument about mistrust sounded a bit hypocritical, but to carry an item of such weight and proportion around all the time would be a great discomfort. Besides, as long as she was in the premises of Berk, there was weapon everywhere – close your eyes and make five steps in a random direction, you'll most probably end up tripping over some. A slight demilitarization was a reasonable next step, but it was far too early for such measures to have been taken.

The dragon completely ignored her presence (she doubted it even saw her in the first place) and started to clumsily waddle down the road on its short legs. She watched it for a while, trying to come up with a possible destination it might have been trying to reach. No sooner had a supposition appeared in her head than the Gronckle looked around itself and turned towards one of the sheds inhabited by a flock of sheep throughout most of the winter. In a flash, she found herself moving in the dragon's tracks quickly with a sword in her hand, failing to notice when or how she had obtained it. From thirty feet's distance she saw the poorly winged creature push the door open and move inside. Frightened bleating followed and she picked up on her pace, determined to catch the thief red-handed.

The wood protested with an elongated creak as she booted the entrance open and scanned the interior hastily. She ignored the panicked sheep, focusing completely on the dragon – currently rolling on the floor in what must have been a scuffle with someone she was quick to recognize as Fishlegs.

"Hold him still, one clear hit should do it!" she yelled, looking for an opening. At the moment, the Gronckle was on top, but a sharp jerk allowed her colleague to throw his opponent off. That was all she needed.

"Wait!" she heard him scream, but ignored it, concentrated on bringing the stealing bastard down. The blade rose sharply and began to fall in a well-aimed hit… then suddenly Astrid found herself pinned to the ground by a great weight, unable to move.

"What in the name of Thor do you think you're doing?" she heaved angrily, all the while trying her best not to suffocate.

"I could ask you the same question." While standing up to her wasn't his strongest attribute, in the times of need Fishlegs could be as persistent as anybody else.

"Why are you even holding me down instead of taking care of this thief?"

"What thief-" a realization suddenly dawned on the plump boy. "No, no, he wasn't stealing anything, he just came here looking for me!"

"All the better reason for me to chop its head off, now let go!" she demanded.

"No Astrid, you don't understand," he responded calmly, knowing perfectly well that she couldn't do anything to him right know – and that she _would_ as soon as she could unless he got her to see his point. "He's my friend, he's just visiting. No animosity. I'm gonna let you up know," he added, albeit reluctantly.

Finding herself free from the grip, the girl lifted her head from the ground and drew in a deep breath. She winced at the smell which entered her nostrils, but even more at the scaled muzzle right in front of her. Next thing she knew, the dragon licked her in a friendly manner, making her face contort in a disgusted manner. She wasted no more time in standing up and sending an icy glare to Fishlegs, who was trying to contain laughter brought to him by the sight – and failing miserably.

"I think he wants to make friends with you," he said with a smile, earning himself a strong blow to the arm. "Ow! What was that for?"

She didn't answer, instead quitting promptly and slamming the door shut behind herself. Outside, she stopped and wiped the saliva from her cheek and brow, slowly calming her heavy breathing. The nerve of that stupid reptile!

Dragons were friendly towards humans. She had just gained another proof of that and it still didn't make any sense to her. With no particular thought on her mind, she resumed the pointless trek through the village.

xxx

After a moment of thinking… correction, an eternity of thinking, I still think fishing is one of the most boring activities people have ever come up with. If it wasn't for the whole relations' enhancement supposedly going on between me and Dad, I would gladly jump into the freezing water and swim back, just to have anything happening around.

In a way, that makes the bonding even more benevolent, since I would most probably die of thermal shock or drown while struggling to reach the shore.

We couldn't have been sitting on this tiny speck of wood for more than two hours, but already I'm feeling like Ragnarok should begin in a moment – what with the world ending and all. The worst thing is I actually believed we're going to have a proper conversation for the first time in my life, but ever since we set off the only words exchanged included some rod handling advice and arguably excited exclamations upon feeling the bait being caught. On the other hand, I think I might not have been trying hard enough to aid him in making the most of this "quality time".

"Dad?" I say, feeling him stir before he cautiously turns his head from the horizon he's been staring at for a while now.

"Yes, Hiccup?" I'm glad he has finally started to use my first name when addressing me. It was simply awkward to be spoken to as "son" on almost every occasion.

"You know how we never had a real talk with each other," I begin with a strong feeling that it's hardly the best opening, so as to prevent him from succumbing to the accidental subliminal accusation, I quickly continue, "so no one has ever told me the whole of our history. I mean, sure, I've picked on a lot just by listening to what people were discussing in the Mead Hall and other places, but it's not the same as hearing it firsthand." That's true only in part – I don't really think there is much missing from my knowledge, but it was always one of the things I envied my peers the most, having the past events relayed to them in an accessible form by their parents.

"Well justified," he nods, then changes his sitting position to face me fully, which sends our boat into a fit of mad rocking. Luckily, no water manages to get inside. "This is also important that you understand it completely if you are to become a successful leader one day." With this single remark, my spirits rocket, the question of my succession having been a taboo for as long as I can remember.

A prolonged silence follows as he collects his thoughts, probably debating upon how to best put the whole complex picture of our past into words. I let him do this – Odin knows we got all the time in the world and it's obvious interrupting one's train of thought doesn't warm their heart towards you.

"It all started many years ago," he speaks up at last, catching me off-guard. I haven't even noticed when my eyes fixed on the small ripples sent all around by the gentle rocking of our vessel, sending mind to rest.

"How many exactly?" I inquire, as the amount has always escaped my eavesdropping.

"It is impossible to say. Little has been put to writing, even less made it to our times and spoken accounts are always short on numbers. I'd say it must have been between three and four centuries ago." Seeing that I have no further questions, he continues, "Anyway, back in those days a small fleet of four longships left Norway, carrying over sixty sturdy men with their families, belongings, even some livestock. They had no distinct destination – or so the legends let us believe. It would really be unwise to set off on such a journey without a sensible plan…" he trails off, perhaps thinking the tales through thoroughly for the first time in his life. I must agree with him on this one, the cruise in random direction seems unlikely to have happened.

"Why did they leave anyway? Was it part of the expansions?" I have heard multiple opinions on this one and none has made much sense to me, be it search for new looting grounds (why would they take their wives and children?) or means of fighting over-population (from what I know, Norway is quite a vast land, contrary to Berk).

"Then they would have left in a coordinated, thought-through manner, wouldn't they? No, the truth is there had been conflicts for power going on and our ancestors' ruler was the one to come out defeated." Wow. To hear a Viking admit he's a descendant of a past loser is certainly a new experience. "Suffice to say, they had no view of returning, so they settled here – not on Berk, mind you, but-"

"On Eydra," I interrupt, knowing this part of the story very well.

Corners of his lips rise as he nods his head. "Correct. Do you know the direction one would have to sail from here to get there?"

I have only hesitated for a while before pointing my finger steadily to the east and slightly south, then adding verbally, "That way. It takes less than seven hours to cover using oar power, but with the right wind it can be reduced to little more than two."

"Very well." Despite his unreadable expression I am sure he didn't expect an answer this detailed. "Can you name all the others?"

With a confident smile, I proceed to do so, adding estimated journey lengths to every of the five other inhabited islands in our archipelago. Dad sighs as I finish. "How long I have underestimated you… It seems you know Helheimsvegr like the back of your hand." I am hardly as proud of this lore as he appears to be – this is basic information about our sevenfold home after all. I guess we're making up for past moments of paternal pride.

"We might want to change that name," I suggest with a smile. "We were clearly wrong to regard dragons as Hel's spawns, so it is no longer justified to call our home 'a way to Helheim', right?"

There were several reactions I was prepared for. In none of them did he reach out his hand and ruffle my hair with a hearty chuckle. "It's good to know there's still something I can teach you. Have you ever pondered where the name of our clan originates?"

"Helsvinir…" I mutter, amazed at my own thoughtlessness. "Hel's friends. But…" It makes no sense. If our greatest enemies were believed to come to us straight from the kingdom of death, why call ourselves friends of its ruler?

Dad nods, having probably expected no other reaction. "We won't change the name of our home for the same reason we didn't rename ourselves after the war broke out. Both come from our ancestors and are part of our heritage, in which we take nothing but pride."

"How did they even come up with them? If they had no idea what would happen here one day…"

"It's simple. Anywhere north from us air gets so cold nothing could survive there – if that's not a sign of getting closer to the realm of Hel, I don't know what is. After establishing from where the winged attackers were coming, it was obvious what name to bestow onto that foggy region. And as for the clan, the name wasn't even forged by Vikings."

I look at him with little understanding. "Is this some sort of coincidence then?"

"Not really. It wasn't much of a secret from whence the zealous warriors came once raids began to be launched from these islands. Their persistence, courage and no fear of death whatsoever earned them the suiting name. After hearing the name being screamed out with fright every time they landed on faraway shores, our predecessors had little choice but to accept it, though I don't think they were disappointed."

"It has a nice ring to it," I agree half-heartedly, glad that my lack of enthusiasm goes unnoticed.

xxx

They found her sitting on a rock not far outside the village, fiddling with the sword and staring at the horizon absent-mindedly. She found them a relief to have around since their coming finally made her tiring thoughts subside. For no apparent reason though, she didn't make any motion towards letting them know their presence had been acknowledged. That was just her way.

"Uh, Astrid?" Snotlout was the first to break the awkward silence. She blinked twice before refocusing her vision on the foursome at hand – the whole kith she had always been spending most of her free time with: Snotout, looking as impertinent as usually, in the front; the twins on the right – for a moment she thought she could see concern in Ruffnut's eyes, but closer inspection proved it to be the usual mixture of disregard and lack of interest in anybody's problems. Finally, there was Fishlegs – having perfected the art of looking inconspicuous despite towering over everybody with his bulk.

"Yeah?"

"We figured you'd like to hang out with your usual crowd once in a while," Tuffnut said plainly.

"Seeing as your lover boy's not around," his sister pitched in with her typical reasonless attitude.

Despite the fact she would gladly join them in anything to thwart the boredom, she feigned disinterest in replying, "Eh, why not? What are you up to anyway?"

"Actually…" the word hung in the air for a minute as everybody worked their minds for an interesting plan.

"Let's seek some dragons," Fishlegs proposed. "They are fun to be around."

Ruffnut snorted at the idea. "If you haven't noticed, they're rarely around since snow fell."

"Maybe they just avoid having to look at you," Tuffnut teased her, unable to refrain from it after years of verbal – in the least – competition going on between them on every occasion.

"Nah, they just have too good a sense of smell to get anywhere near you," she was quick to shoot back.

Astrid decided it was a good moment to join the discussion. "I was thinking some armed duel training." A wary glance from Fishlegs didn't escape her attention, so she added, "The winged lizards _may_ no longer be a threat, but there are other occasions that call for battle skills."

"Think we're going to start expanding again?" said Snotlout.

"What?" everyone but Astrid asked in unison, making the knowledgeable male puff his chest in pride as his superiority – partial, but who cares? – became obvious.

"It's something my dad taught me about," he began to explain, "the most common Vikings' occupation outside Berk – at least since the dragon war started. Before that our ways were pretty much the same."

Tuffnut cut in after a suspense-building pause. "Yeah, beat about the bush for another hour."

"Keep interrupting him and-" the siblings' argument was stopped from escalating by Astrid's slightly reproving "Guys!". They glared at each crossly but silenced.

Snotlout cleared his throat before continuing, "As I was saying… without the need to defend our home day in and day out, our warriors might start looting and sacking faraway lands again. New ships can be built, then we will probably sail south and claim the riches awaiting us there."

Fishlegs appeared very excited at the concept. "You mean, like, chests of gold buried underground?"

"More like, stored in foreign treasuries," his answer came with a smirk from the speaker.

That seemed to baffle him. "But-" he started to protest.

"We're Vikings, toughest breed there is!" exclaimed Snotlout, getting an approbatory, surprisingly unanimous cry from the Thorson twins. "Who could possibly stand in our way?"

Astrid leaned on her sword in a way that brought the weapon to everybody's focus as much as her words did her. "Which reminds me," she said with a smile. "Anyone up for a challenge?"

xxx

As the sun slowly begins to set, sparkling up the surface of the ocean, I am still deep in thoughts concerning the history of our people. A bunch of warriors, taking their families onto a dangerous journey out of loyalty to their exiled leader, who, for all we know, could have been stained with níð in his homeland. Perhaps that was the real reason behind inhabiting this unwelcoming cluster of rocks. If no one wants you back where you lived and you know you'll be driven out of any other land already taken if you dare come near it, all that is left to do is find your own place. One where you'll have no one to hate you, no one to harass you. Odin, am I glad Astrid accidentally stopped me from leaving on that fateful day! I can't imagine how hard it must have been for those sixty men, a single man and his dragon companion sound even less like a firm basis for new civilization.

Still, the irony of those past events lingers in my conscious. Four ships carry the determined settlers through unresting seas, each of them adorned with a dragon's head (I wonder if those were real?) attached to the prow. Back then, the ornament was believed to keep a vessel from attacks of monsters such as dragons or sea serpents. The crew settles in an archipelago they name "way to Hel's kingdom", make themselves at home and guess what? Hel's spawns come upon them. I can't imagine the frustration caused by the first raids after that same line of reasoning had been made. It's like the land turned tail on them and said: "Want to taste Hel? There ya go."

Speaking of speaking, all of a sudden I realize the unidentified buzz I've been feeling in my head was in fact a muffled sound coming from the other side of the boat – and sure enough, snapping my mind to attention allows me to hear the last words: "-home, eh?"

"Sorry, what?" I ask without thinking, embarrassment at my lack of attention starting to kick in. "I kind of drifted away."

Dad shakes his head, a light smile present on his face indicating his amusement. "I said it's getting late and we should probably head back home."

"Yeah…" I trail off, glancing at the small heap of fish piled in-between us. "I don't think we have to be shy about the outcome of our trip."

"Not at all."

Recalling a memory from my childhood, I put on an innocent look. "If we're so successful, maybe we should go out to hunt a troll or two one day?"

A sudden change in the aura tells me the joke has been well aimed. It takes a while of struggling to keep a straight face against Dad's wary scrutiny, but he quickly sees through my disguise and slowly but surely we both start to crack up. Soon enough, his bellowing laughter rises to the level at which I have no doubt every person on Berk must be wondering what hilarious thing had their chief come upon.

Finally he settles, though a shade of cheerfulness clings to his voice. "Let's go." He grabs the oars and starts rowing, subsequent to resting his rod inside the boat. "Trolls," he chuckles under his breath.

We fall silent, leaving nothing but the rhythmical creaking of the oars to be heard, which, accompanied by calm rocking of the boat, proves to be almost hypnotizing. I find my eyelids dropping under the combination of the sounds' repetitiveness and exhaustion by the day's busyness. Although it's doubtful Dad would mind my falling asleep, I disallow myself to, aware of the thing I waited to discuss with him for a long time. If there is to be a good moment to raise it, it's now. Regardless of the fact that we've spent several preceding hours on pure small talk, I decide to approach the matter indirectly, unconsciously continuing to persuade myself it will make it easier for him to cope with that way. "I was wondering… If Eydra was the first island to be inhabited, how come it's Berk where we reside?"

I don't really need to hear the answer. The third generation of settlers came to a correct conclusion that too great a population would use up Eydra's natural resources far too quickly, hence bringing them to the colonization of other islands making up Helheimsvegr. It was established that every isle was to have its own administrator, responsible for everything happening on his own chunk of land and giving orders while defending it. All those rulers were second to Eydra's leader and formed his closest council, thus keeping foreign affairs of all the islands consistent.

Unknowingly synchronizing with the flow of my thoughts, Dad responds. "After settlements have been established on the farthest islands, it became increasingly uncomfortable for their inhabitants to travel the great distance for every Samnaðr."

"The monthly meeting of all the leaders," I nod in understanding.

"There were other reasons too. The central position of Berk makes it geographically expedient for the main ruler's abode and facilitates him to issue orders to the other islands as quickly as possible." The one he didn't – and wouldn't – mention was that the six islands created sort of a natural cordon, protecting the family in charge from harm as best they could. It's arguable, however, if anyone ever thought about that, save alone spoke it out loud. Vikings aren't really keen on safety issues. Besides, even before the dragon rides Helheimsvegr didn't suffer many attacks launched from other human settlements. Who would like to fight for such an inhospitable land with no beaches to storm? The archipelago characterizes with steep fjords and unwelcoming, dozens feet's high stone walls. It would take a tactical genius and crazy man combined into one to lead a successful conquest here.

I haven't even noticed when in the course of my reverie I closed my eyes and rested my chin on a bent palm, almost falling asleep, acknowledging this fact only after Dad spoke again. "The next Samnaðr is due in less than a week, Hiccup. I… I would like you to participate in it." I sense some hesitance in his voice, but I ignore it, busy trying to predict how this proposition will affect his reaction to my plea.

Under his expectant look, I make one last quick prayer to Thor before responding. "Actually, I wanted to ask your permission to join a long time ago," he beams at the declaration, no wonder proud I take such an interest in the matters of administrating our land. "I would like to take the floor in it."

The oars stop their circular movement as Dad gapes at me, flabbergasted. In the following silence several squeaks resound as my artificial leg twitches in an outburst of uneasiness. "What matter should you like to raise?" he finally asks. I sigh in relief upon hearing no disdain in his voice, only curiosity.

"It has already been made official that dragons are not to be attacked," I state in a formal tone without stuttering, having repeated those words in silence hundred times. "And, as you have seen, not only are they friendly and responsive towards humans, but have also proven to be prone to cajoling into carrying riders, mostly youths. I believe it is time other islands' dwellers were offered the same level of bondage Berk has already familiarized with."

Rowing resumes, but for a minute it's the only thing audible. I wait patiently, fully aware that I have asked for much in a single string of speech.

"I will present your proposal to the Samnaðr," he finally decides.

"No," I object with recently found courage to oppose him. "I believe it's crucial that the subject is presented by myself."

I sense him struggling with the urge to end the discussion without hearing me out before asking, "Why?"

"If I'm not the one to bring it forth, I will be seen as no one more than a boy on an errand by the hosts of other islands – and treated as such."

"Hiccup, you already have more fame than most Vikings your age ever had!" he interrupts with berate. "What more would you want, festivities to be organized upon your arrival?"

I am dumbstruck upon such a notion. "No! Not at all. It's just that if I'm seen as the man behind the whole affair, I'm far more likely to instill certain ideas into those who are superior to me. Especially if I have Stoick the Vast's recommendation for my actions," I end coaxingly.

"Well…" he scratches his head, then sighs. "Fine. I consent."

xxx

By the time sun started to near the end of its descent, Astrid only had one partner left to spar with. Fishlegs had already scattered away an hour or two ago, excusing himself with some chores he had to take care of and the twins, being how they were, got into a one-on-one duel consisting of twice as much snide remarks as physical blows. If only they could learn to convert that energy into proper attacks, they would be sure to make a fierce twosome of warriors.

Leaving those thoughts aside, she adjusted her grip on the shield and scrutinized the other young Viking's stance, looking for a clue as to what he was going to do in a second. The axe hung low in her relaxed hand to avoid unnecessary strain being put on the muscles. She was shuffling slowly on her legs, changing direction every once in a while.

On the spur of the moment, she leapt forward with a scream, thrusting the shielded hand into the immobile opponent in a move both offensive and defensive, and then, as his footing seemed to start failing, she spun around, aiming to place a blow to the dazed boy's head. Granted, the cutting edges of her axe were wrapped in rugs for safety measures, but this was still going to hurt… Until the targeted head moved out of the way in a quick dodge prior to a shield slamming into her side in a maneuver similar to the one she performed – only more successful, as she was knocked to the ground at the impact.

Wasting no time in rolling around and using her momentum to stand back up, she smiled at the sight of smirk attached to Snotlout's face. Much had changed in his behavior since she confirmed her willingness to pursue a relationship with Hiccup – that included an end put to his pathetic pick-up lines and a much anticipated overcoming of his fear of hitting back too hard while training. Normally, he would have looked at her apologetically and ask if she were all right, now he was just standing there with a smug face, provoking her to proceed with the assault. Instead of giving in, she made a fake step forward, receiving the wanted reaction. He tried to sidestep her charge and flank her, but instead was forced to shield himself against a well-placed swing of her axe, topped with a swift kick to the calf, the combination sending him to the ground. Lacking Astrid's nimbleness, he had no chance to get up before his neck became pinned to the ground by the blunt top of her weapon.

The victor panted from exhaustion of hours' long training, breaths escaping her mouth forming small white clouds, sweat starting to freeze on the exposed parts of skin after a short moment of steadiness. She could only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been for the defeated Snotlout, lying in the snow cooling his body further. Still, she wouldn't let him up just yet. Vikings didn't tolerate weaklings, so each of them had to be able to suffer the consequences of losing in silence.

Just as Astrid was about to jerk the axe from the ground (into which the protruding ends of the head dug), a huge, black shape moving behind the quarrelling Thorsons drew her attention. In a flash, it pounced on them, then suddenly leapt onto her arms.

For a being his size Toothless was incredibly light and most probably lessened his weight further by spreading his wings to an extent while human-jumping, but the force still managed to send every one of them to the ground. Having landed in the snow, Astrid hardly had a moment to take in everything that had happened before half of her vision became obstructed by a large scaled head with two greenish eyes, a question clearly imprinted onto the features.

"Hiccup's not here," she said, guessing where the dragon's interest lay with ease. The entrance he made left her completely unroused as Toothless appeared to be the only member of his species (widely speaking) to escape her suspiciousness. Collecting herself from the ground, she noticed him looking around and sniffing at the air. "You might not want to disturb him," she suggested, "he's working on his family business right now."

As Toothless looked longingly at the sea, she moved closer towards him, feeling the collective attention focused on her. "I'm serious. Don't." She had been ignored. Instead, the long black ears suddenly perked up and the reptile's gaze locked in on the bay. His wings unfolded slightly as he started walking slowly in that direction. "No!" she screamed, sparing no moment to ponder over her zealousness in protecting the two men's privacy, and leapt forward with an insane intention of pinning Toothless.

Big mistake.

"What was I thinking?" was the only thing her colleagues heard in a fading voice as the dragon took off with his would-be captor.

Hanging to the black neck for dear life, Astrid subconsciously noted buildings wheezing past them as her monstrous mount half-flew, half-sprinted down a steep road connecting the village with its seaport, but it wasn't until the wooden ramps marking the steep descent showed up ahead and none of the velocity had been dropped that she clenched her eyes shut in a rare streak of fear.

If it wasn't for the stress coursing through her veins, she would have probably sincerely enjoyed the sudden feeling of weightlessness and soft blows of air being passed by. In her current ituation, however, all she could focus on was the tight grip she had on Toothless's neck, the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss beneath them. Just as she began to think the fall was never going to end, there was a sudden thud and she felt the dragon's leg muscles start working again underneath her with the same speed they had before the fall.

She squinted her eyes open again in the very same moment Toothless chose to stop abruptly, leaning his head down as he did so, thus sending his temporary rider flying straight ahead. She heard the anticipated sound of weathered wooden planks protesting against being landed at, but didn't feel any pain at the contact. In fact, whatever she lay upon was quite comfortable.

It was Hiccup.

"Now he's herding you girls too!" she recognized the voice of Stoick even before she saw him tying the boat to a pole next to them. "The qualities of those dragons," he added cheerfully, tossing Toothless a treat from a basketful of fish scattered in the vessel, which the dragon accepted with gratitude.

Finding no appropriate thing to say, Astrid collected herself from the wharf and helped Hiccup up.

"Thanks," he managed to say before she retracted her hand. Right after she did, he stumbled forward in what looked like the most clumsy way to initiate a hug to her. The theory had been undermined after he made no further movement towards pulling her close, instead using her arm for support as he glanced downward. Following his stare, she noticed what had happened – the very same thing he had tried so hard to avoid while walking towards the boat several hours ago. In the process of catching her, he accidentally let his artificial leg slip into an empty space between two planks and, during their collapse, it broke.

Toothless approached them, sensing the changed mood of his human. He looked at the destroyed appendage with pity, then brought his head upwards to look at Hiccup. "Don't worry, we'll fix it," the re-dismembered boy said, directing the sentence either at Astrid or Toothless – or, most probably, at both of them, as while he patted the scaled muzzle, his eyes darted between the two. "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, son?" Being in the middle of packing the fish into a basket purposely left here before they had left, Stoick didn't even turn his head, therefore staying unaware of the accident.

"I think I'll have to hitch a ride home," explained Hiccup. "You ok with that?"

"Of course, have fun!"

Next question was preceded by a look exchanged with Toothless. "Will you carry two?" The response came in a short, almost hurt snort on the dragon's part, as though the veiled supposition of his being unable to do so stung him.

Later that day, as she was going back home after leaving Hiccup and Toothless in front of the Haddocks' abode, Astrid had to admit riding atop the dragon could be a real pleasure even without all the usual garments. Provided he refrained himself from flying or running too fast out of concern for at least one of the passengers.

* * *

As you can see, I have made further deviations from the book version, including names, geography and history. All I'm going to be loyal towards is the movie.

Oh yes, and I'm going to mix those two narrative styles, being under the impression it's generally acceptable after reading some David Lodge. I hope it's not annoying to have tenses and points of view turning upside down so often.

There are some numbers invoked in this chapter - most of them took much counting on my part, but I won't bore you with the details. Again, I have based them on what the movie presented and my own ideas.

I feel Astrid's come out of character. Part of it will be justified further on, part is just me.

Last but certainly not least, a huge kudos goes to **PenNameSmith **- the dialogue lesson was an invaluable help in writing this chapter, thanks once more!

Thanks to the other reviewers, too. Your appreciation is a great incentive for writing. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the first!

Until next time!


	3. Smithery

Having peacefully awoken from the night's sleep, I struggle for a moment to pin down some of the details of my dreams which still remain somewhere in the back of my head. There was something about… uh, about… Yeah, right. Try and recollect the nocturnal visions after opening your eyes. With that opportunity gone, I lie in a rested position for a while, face pressed into the pillow to induce falling asleep once more, but to no avail.

Not yet sure as to what I'm going to do afterwards, I slid the left leg – artificial, I remember this time – down to begin the day by leaving the bed. Before having the slightest chance to realize what's going on, I end up with my butt on the floor, thankful to have saved the head and back from hitting the hard wood. As I glance at the miserable remnants of what was a functional prosthesis not so long ago, memories of the past evening start to flood my head.

Little has happened, to be honest – having decided I'm not even hungry, I just went up to my room and succumbed to exhaustion of the day. To list the reasons for humiliation I had on such a short walk however! To get into the house I had to practically jump the entire way on the only working leg – allowing Toothless to carry me there was also an option, but I didn't want to give him a false hope for a longer stay, having already been intent on going to sleep as soon as possible. Besides, he could unintentionally create quite a mess upon being admitted inside and I couldn't imagine trying to amend it without an ability to move. Then the ultimate mortification came as a need to climb the stairs up arouse. The only thing I was content with was the fact that there was no one present to witness that pathetic crawl.

Well, at the very least, I now know what the day holds in store for me.

As I stumble towards the stairs to descend them in a well established manner, a sudden realization hits me: that's how Toothless must have felt after falling into that ravine I found him in. What's more, he had no views at getting his handicap being taken care of, whereas I must simply reach the forge and figure something out. I don't even want to imagine how hard I would have it to continue my life in this condition, hardly facing up to the society's standards even without being immobilized.

Dad isn't in the house, but it's not surprising – I was always one to sleep in and he's the chief, which means he's busy practically all the time, if not with the matters of Berk, then with the other islands'.

After covering a literal hop, skip and a jump to the door, I step outside and look around for Toothless. He's not there either, as though some luck would kill me! I calm myself down. His absence shouldn't be a problem, as his hearing proved to be powerful enough for him to hear me even from the other side of Berk, so I just call his name out loud and sit at the threshold, using the closed door for back support.

Several minutes pass without anything happening and I start toying with the idea he might actually be occupied with something. Something more important than coming to see me after being summoned. I let out an exasperated sigh, though the annoyance is directed at myself rather than him. A small accident happens and already I'd sooner admit to weakness and call for help than use my own head. Very Viking indeed.

A quick excursion back home combined with a prompt search provide me with a fine javelin. Not the greatest idea, using an object longer than yourself as a weapon, but it should make a satisfying walking stick.

One quick test to check its endurance – I lean my whole weight on it. Nothing happens, so I reach it forward and confidently try to make a step, but all the effect I get is that I nearly stumble. This is nowhere near the comfort of having an unresponsive peg leg. And I can't believe I've just called it comfort.

Fortunately, it is not so great a distance between here and the smithy. I can do it.

…Twenty minutes later I arrive at the target, sweating, panting and wheezing, barely able to keep myself straight, hands pulsing with pain from the force of my grip on the shaft. I think I might get blisters from it. All because of this handicap!

With a sigh I enter the semi-open structure. I have little experience with other lands' ways, but keeping the forge like that – having only three walls around it – appears to be a pretty clever move. Not only does it keep the workers inside cooled from almost unbearable waves of heat given off by the stove, but it also ensures an easy escape route, should a fire start here. The single drawback is lack of privacy – countless times I'd scrutinized the surroundings to ensure no one was watching as I was finishing off my inventions. Logical reasoning is that there probably wouldn't be anyone interested in whatever I was doing anyway, but apprehension defies logic and I was always rather prone to the first.

I look around, recalling all the time I've spent here with my teacher, working on various pieces of equipment. It's piled in great abundance everywhere, cramping the limited space to the point in which it's a miracle two men can move through the room freely. Suddenly, my hand slips on the handle. The pang thus invoked makes me explode with anger towards the item which put me through so much pain. After a failed attempt at snapping the cursed object in half, I toss it peevishly onto the floor.

Focused on my irritation, I fail to notice Gobber entering the place behind my back until he speaks. "Got out of bed on the wrong side, eh?"

A startle almost sends me back to the floor – fate seems to regard it as the place I should fit in. "You could say that," I answer truthfully while turning towards him, then gesture to the abandoned tools around. "Doing nothing?"

"Nah, nada's to be done. Go on and use anything you need to piece yourself back up," he offers without my having time to ask for permission. A flabbergasted look must present quite clearly on my face, as he adds, "Did you really think I'm that unobservant? Besides, it's not like you can hide it after riding a spear just to drag yourself in here on one leg."

"Right. Hey, won't you help me?" I ask promptly as he turns to leave.

My response comes subsequent to a look of utter disbelief. "What, with this? I couldn't!"

"Why not? You said you have nothing to do…"

He shakes his head. "You don't seem to understand how deep the bond connecting you with your body is, Hiccup."

"Um… what?" What has this old fellow been drinking so early in the morning?

"Sit down, boy, and listen to me carefully." I obey, hopping onto the anvil. Gobber has earned his fame as a storyteller – and having spent countless hours with him in this workshop, I'm fully aware what he's capable of when it comes to talking. Plus, I muse, we're about to discuss a topic he has hand-on experience on and there is certainly no other cripple like the two of us on Berk (Toothless doesn't count for obvious reasons), so I might very well be the first person to share his condition, understand it without a need to imagine how having one limb less feels.

"Whatever material possessions you have are of some value," he starts in a knowledgeable voice of a weathered narrator he is. "Some you could kill others to keep, others you could defend without considering the risk such action would pose to your life. Neither of these is even close to the bond you have with your body, Hiccup. To lose a leg is worse than to lose an entire house! _That_," he emphasizes, "is why we admire Odin and Týr so much. Sacrificing an eye or a hand _willingly_ for the sake of whatever matter you're focused on is a superhuman feat, nowhere near losing it in the course of battle, like the two of us have."

He pauses for a while, giving me a moment to chew on this information. It all makes sense so far, contrary to most of the tales of what he's allegedly been through in his life. I catch myself on scrutinizing his own artificial appendages, the way they're constructed. Hitherto, they were just a part of him – I mean, do you usually try to get a close look on how somebody's hand looks like?

Taking my muteness as a sign to continue, he does so. "You see, the connection between you and your body parts – _especially _self-manufactured – is as strong as an attachment to a loved person… I see that 'yeah, right' look you're giving me!" he exclaims suddenly, reading my mind faster than I'm able to. But he's right to assume I disbelieve his words. Love? Loki take my soul if I felt anything but hate towards that blasted piece of wood and metal. If not for the fact that I'm grounded without it, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment before burning it to ashes.

"You want to tell me you _really_ feel that way towards your prostheses? That you would let your healthy hand be chopped off to keep the interchangeable one? Because I doubt you wouldn't allow such an action to be taken if a loved one's life hung in balance."

He mutters something angrily under his nose, so silently I only catch single words like "Viking", "romantic" and "insanity". Finally, he sighs and scratches his chin with the metal ending of his left hand. "Fine, let's say you're right. Still, this," he stresses, putting the appendage clearly into view, "is much more than a thing you just own. It is a part of you! You walk with it, sleep with it, fight with it! That's why you want it to be perfect, just like you imagine it. You can only create something that is you while being yourself."

I am still far from being convinced to his point of view. "It's just a replacement. It has to work properly, nothing more."

"You are more like Stoick every day," he spits vexedly, putting me in a state of shock. Me? Like him? And most of all, when did he take to regarding me being like Dad a flaw? "He used the very same words while you were unconscious from that mighty fall you've taken with your dragon. I didn't want to create that first stump for you and I still think it was a mistake that I did do it. In time you will get round to seeing it my way though, I'm sure of it."

I realize this is going to take us nowhere. Arguing with Gobber has always had the least bit more sense than doing so with Dad, as he would at least hear me out before submitting to his obstinacy and ignoring them. Now that I'm somewhat connected with Dad, he became a much fairer person to dispute with than my master. We could sit here formulating our thoughts for hours and still reach no conclusion, both knowing the other is wrong.

"Maybe I will," I say agreeably. "But I still don't know why you wouldn't help me? If you insist that it were my project, so be it, I'll tell you what to do." That sounded ridiculous.

"It's magic, I told you," he says, standing up. "You're better at fine arts than me anyway, you'll do just fine," the last words come already from the doorway.

"But-" he's no longer there to hear me out. "Great. Run from the cripple. Wonderful."

Ranting is not going to help me. After one last annoyed sigh, I correct my sitting position a bit and draw the halved limb up to study what's left of it. During the weeks I've spent with it I memorized the straps fastening the construction of wood and metal to the still animate part, it's overall look, weight and so on. But apart from the connection I have never really pondered over the way it worked. Gobber uses a simple pole, attached to the stub of his leg in the same way mine is. I reckon it's more out of sentiment than inability that he doesn't want to modernize it, what with whole that speech about affection towards his surrogates.

Maybe that's why he dreaded working on mine! Meeting face-to-face with the possibility that there are many improvements to be made in the original project while staying intent on keeping the traditional version would be a test of stubbornness and shortsightedness even for the most obdurate of Vikings. Unsurprisingly, Gobber proved once more that despite lacking some fleshy parts, he's still got all the unyieldingness he should: he created a gimmick for me and kept his outdated, blunt substitute intact.

That it's been lost it is a tragedy I only now start to comprehend. Somehow, he managed to bend a piece of metal to fit perfectly into the pedal I've included in Toothless's harness. He even added a detent to keep the device in place, guessing correctly that with diminished control over it I could use such help. Then it's had this place left loose inside – or was some kind of a spring there? – that amortized the vertical unsteadiness resulting from Toothless's wings' movement underneath me, escalating whenever he wants to gain altitude apace. If not for that particular hallmark, the uncontrollable piece of metal would probably trash against the stirrup constantly, constantly disrupting the flight.

I'm better at fine arts, Gobber says. Only the solitude keeps me from bursting with laughter. He had almost no chance to see all the equipment I forged for Toothless in action and I doubt the dragon was of much help when he was trying to figure out how to form the much needed replacement for my leg – though most would deem it impossible, he pulled this task off.

And after all the effort he's put into the design all I'm left with is a roughly broken chunk of wood with its strapping and a layer of wool on top to prevent it from rubbing against my skin. The important piece lies somewhere beneath a meters-deep layer of water, having sunk before anyone noticed its absence. How's that for my infamous luck?

It's not all that bad though. Gobber might not be willing to share his original plans, nor is he going to help me, but hey, I'm the one who got a downed dragon into the air for the first time in history, I have most experience in riding one and all the time in the world to work.

On the other hand, it would be nice to have this thing ready by the time of Samnaðr. Let's get to work then!

I try to get up and limp towards the room that's become my home away from home – a small workshop I've come up with ideas for most of my inventions in. Pure instinct (a reaction for all the falls I've suffered recently, I reckon) stops me from hopping down with trust and collapsing yet another time. Now, isn't this ironic? In order to get myself a new leg, I will have to _walk_ around the place almost all the time. "Riding a spear", as my mentor called it, certainly isn't going to do the trick. Fortunately, a quick scan of materials gathered around me is enough to spark some inspiration.

Several one-legged jumps allow me to collect all the needed utilities: two planks which were probably supposed to be used to create new shields, a hammer and a bunch nails. It will look stupid, but Thor! That's how temporary means work.

The anvil is only about two feet shorter than me, hence the wild balancing it takes for me to prop the cut leg on it, but once this step is completed, the rest of the process goes rather smoothly. With precise strikes I nail the two prepared pieces of wood onto opposite sides of whatever one might call the thing still strapped onto my leg. Only when I bend deeply to reach the lower end of this pathetic excuse of a prosthesis does a problem arise, assuming a form of cramps overtaking the still blood-filled part of my appendage. Unable to overcome it, I fall back onto the floor, crutching the pain-filled spot and groaning loudly. With some gentle massaging I manage to subdue it, but I'm not up for another go at it. Instead, I resort to taking the tools down with me and nailing the loose ends together while sitting on the ground. Now that I think about it, I could have taken the damned thing off and just do it all without a need for the silly performance I've given. Phew.

Having got up, I take a while to adjust to the new way of walking enforced by the crudeness of the chosen solution. It's at least twice as loud when I make the unsure steps and my hobbling is far worse than Gobber's, but it works and that's what matters for the time being.

With this impediment aside, I proceed to enter my sanctuary. It's the smallest room I've ever seen on Berk. Judging by our people's standards, a proper term, I believe, would be "claustrophobic". I wonder what possible purpose may the builder have seen in putting it here? It was definitely not inspired by my diminutive size, as, oddly enough, the smithy is one of the oldest structures around, thus easily beating me in age.

I begin by listing all the attributes I would expect the final product to have. The minimum of what I'm aiming at is recreating the previous one's pros, so "Amortization during flight, facilitation in pedal adjusting" are the first to appear on a clear sheet of paper, followed closely by "Reduction of waddling". Great, now on to the more innovate part. What would Astrid propose? I blink twice at the out-of-place question. Why would my mind switch to her all of a sudden? Because she's standing in the doorway? Yeah, that's probably it. Back to the list-

Halt, what?

"Are you always this focused when working?" she asks with a grin I don't reciprocate, still too wound up by her appearing out of the blue.

"Is this a dream?" the question sounds weird, but I could think of nothing else. Is it even possible to ask such a thing while dreaming?

Instead of looking at me with bafflement, she smiles teasingly and crosses her hands on her chest. "Is _this_ what happens in your dreams?'

I want to look her in the eyes before responding, but mine seem to be glued to her hands. Sparing no time to wonder why that is so, I force them upwards. "It could be a nice start…" With that, I stand up and make a small step forward, an inviting smile present upon my face.

Astrid returns the gesture – the only difference being her version's downright seductive as opposed to nothing but goofiness I have on display. She too makes a move towards me, which almost brings us together… Then looks down in the worst moment and bursts with laughter, stopping me dead in my tracks and making my arms go limp when they were halfway into embracing her. Odin damn descrying.

Almost doubling over in amusement, she tries to choke out a question, but fails at the first attempt. Come on, I know it's not prettily done, but _this_ is overreacting.

"Hiccup, I know pirate tales can be pretty inspiring for boys your age," she finally manages to say, all the while balancing on the edge of falling back into her fit, "but," she nearly erupts again on the word, "this is _not_ how 'walking the plank' works!" she finishes hurriedly, then resumes doing her best not to suffocate with overwhelming spasms of hilarity.

I want to join in, but despite recognizing the pun as a good one I find myself unable to summon the mirth. The reason is pretty obvious, but I avoid naming it… Probably because it is bound to come out stupidly when transcribed to words. Or because I'm disappointed with myself for feeling that way.

Having settled down, she scoffs at seeing my expression. "Oh come on, don't be so curmudgeon! It was just a joke." To top it off, she pecks me in the cheek and starts to look at the contents of the desk, still covered by a film of sketches, mostly those of all the equipment I designed while "taming" Toothless.

"Why are you even here?" I ask her, receiving a nasty look in response. "Right, wrong choice of vocabulary. How did you get here?"

She looks up with a blank expression. "On foot." I snicker at the repartee, which gets her to smile back and add, "I met Gobber on my way to- uh, he strictly forbid me to disturb your work here."

I smile at the thought of my master's cunning in tricking her into keeping me company – should he have asked her to do that directly, she would never abide by it.

"Said something about magic going on," she continues after a momentary pause, undermining my new view of Gobber. "So, do you want me to leave you alone with your craft?" she asks in an almost sincere tone, fighting the upward contractions of her lips.

"Actually, there's an enchantment I wanted to put on you… To compete with your charm is a task beyond me, however," I answer, inching closer with much effort put into stopping the prosthesis from making a sound.

She laughs once, then approaches me with the same smile that melted my heart just a moment ago. "I beg to differ," she states before pulling me into a passionate kiss. Forgetting about everything else, I answer it elatedly, my hands embracing her thin waist instinctively.

Múspell take Odin's runes! There is no magic more potent than that of the smithy of spells, creation blessed by Freyja herself, female lips. Slight alteration in their position sends men's hearts into madness, their single touch is a reward worth fighting and killing for.

After what would feel like a moment even if it lasted for hours, we part, our heated breaths mixing with each other for another few seconds as I refuse to withdraw my hands. Astrid complies, laying her head on my shoulder, but after a silent minute I feel her push me away delicately. Albeit not fain, I let her escape the hug and back away ever so slightly. As I watch her brush aside some stray hair that always manages to break free from her headband's grip, it occurs to me that I've been lucky to receive even this much. Had there been a remote possibility of anyone watching us, I would have zero chance to coax her into such intimacy. I have to agree with the unspoken reasoning behind that part of her behavior, affection isn't a common thing to show-

"Can I somehow help you with your work?" she asks suddenly.

-amongst Vikings, so it would surely be mentally excruciating for her if any of this happened in public. Embarrassment has this weird way about itself that it can possess you simply because several people around think it should. Anyway, how can she change a subject so fast?

I draw a quick breath to calm my frantic thinking, then reply truthfully that I have barely begun thinking how everything should work when she came.

Following my eyes, she takes notice of the started list and scans it. "Looks like a pretty impressive scope of tasks to cover for such a small thing," she says, putting the sheet back down.

"It's not even half of it yet. I just need to figure out what to add there."

She shoots me a doubtful glance. "And how long exactly are you planning to spend here, working on it?"

"I don't know, why?" I answer with a shrug.

"Well, call me cruel, but Gobber has been on it day and night for two days and nights straight while you lay unconscious in bed and I don't think you live up to his skill yet." Despite this agreeing utterly with the way I feel about this undertaking, it stings to hear her say it.

"But-" I try to argue. In vain.

"What would you add, anyway? Other endings?"

I shrug. "An attachable broom would be a nice addition."

"You're impossible, Hiccup," she cracks up.

xxx

Needless to say, Astrid won the argument. A good thing too, as it took me more than two days to figure out how to recreate the vertical suspension system. If only I had stuck to my words and made those "few tweaks" I've mentioned after trying the leg for the first time! Nonetheless, accomplishing it myself filled me with pride and definitely taught me much.

All this time, Toothless didn't show up for a split second. After three days of his absence I'm beginning to feel seriously worried. He's never left me for such a long time before. Had this not been impossible, I would be out searching for him long ago. It's definitely the first thing I'm going to do once the prosthesis is ready, though I hope for him to be back much sooner, because what sounds like a perfect incentive to work as fast as possible is also very distracting – and believe me when I say distraction isn't a good thing when one is working around red hot metal and such.

A noticeable upside of the long, solitary work in the forge is the amount of quality time I'm getting here with Astrid as my frequent companion. She is of little help – the problematic areas require smithing experience, other than that it's really a work for one – but her presence is very affable. I think she feels partially responsible for what happened on the pier, but if my understanding of her emotions is anything to go by, she's also enjoying our work-centered tête-à-têtes.

Right now I'm cleaning the forge after a rather long day of assembling dozens of faulty models of my future leg to finally master the way of making it work. It's a procedure I've accustomed myself with early in my life, in the process of making one of the numerous "technical breakthroughs". Many of those past prototypes still serve a double purpose as mementos and decoration of my space both here and back home.

Now that this part of the construction is ready, I should proceed with the metal element: the pedal-fitting foot with counter-detachment feature. Tomorrow I'll need to bring the saddle back with me. The sole thought brings Toothless back to my mind. What can he possibly be doing so long?

A silent thud resounds from behind me, whence the smithy's window-like counter is located. During the raids, weapons were flowing in both directions most of the time, but ever since the threat has been put aside by me and Toothless, it stayed close. The villagers of Berk know each other very well and whenever anything needs to be done, they come straight to Gobber or me. The thud repeats, fuelling my curiosity, so I waddle in its direction hastily and unlock the shutters. Immediately, a large black head bursts inside and almost knocks me down.

"Toothless!" I exclaim with delight upon recognizing my dearest friend. "Where have you been?" Not even pausing to wait for an answer, I throw my arms around his muzzle and hug him affectionately. A purr I get in response sounds joyful and apologetic at the same time. Wherever he was, Toothless missed me just as much as I did him.

"Wait a minute, bud, I'll be right with you," I promise before scooting back to the scattered pieces of wood. I shove them all into the stone-cold stove, put all the tools I've been using back where they belong and cast a critical glance at the whole room before nodding in approval. Spotless. Should Gobber decide to break his promise and show up here before my work is finished, he'll have nothing to complain about.

I have intentionally left the window open so that Toothless would not feel neglected, but as I turn around to close it, I notice he isn't even looking at me. Instead, his gaze is plastered onto the quickly darkening sky, an air of nostalgia around him. My worries deepen even further – the last time I've seen him like that was right before his disappearance. And just like then, I have no idea what can possibly be wrong. Does he miss flying in the dark? It would make sense, after all he's definitely a nocturnal dragon and ever since I've shot him down he had little occasion to pursue this desire. Or it is the solitude-

The thought ends abruptly as he turns his head and zeroes in on me. There is nothing but joy in his features, I must have misinterpreted his previous position. But it seemed so real… Shaking my head, I decide to get back to it later and enjoy my time with Toothless while he's available.

Having sealed the shutters, I hurry outside. Three days of gaining experience were enough to grace me with a sensible speed – though it certainly wouldn't be so easy to adjust if not for a few weeks' routine I've undergone on my master's creation.

Seeing me, the dragon lets out another mirthful coo, then unfolds his wings ever so slightly in an obvious invitation. I hang my head low. "Sorry, I haven't finished yet." Led by my eyes he inspects the low-quality leg substitute and I feel his spirits plummet again. "Few more days, Toothless," I say, trying to summon a reassuring tone while patting his head, "then we will fly again, real long this time. I promise."

In silence we head back home, his mood balancing on the border between joy at the meeting and disappointment resulting from my disability to fly with him.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" I ask, stopping at the threshold after bidding him farewell. He simply blinks, making me sigh. If only we could find a more potent form of communication…

With that wish stuck up my head, I enter the house to get some sleep before another spell of work. Three days left before Samnaðr.

* * *

In all honesty, for the first time in my history of fanfiction writing, I have nothing to add in the author's notes, so let me leave it simple: I hope you enjoyed!


	4. Samnaðr

A tankard of ale hit the wooden table, spilling some of its content onto the already grease-covered surface and startling Hiccup back to reality. The effect that was most important, though, was that it silenced everybody. Stoick the Vast, for he was the wielder of the cup, grumbled with satisfaction as all eyes focused on him.

"I see we are not going to reach a conclusion today," he said. "We shall leave this matter now and return to it in a month. Hopefully, some new aspects will have been revealed by then."

Hiccup strained his mind to recall what was the matter currently being disputed, but soon accepted unfeasibility of such a task. He was hardly conscious over the course of the last hour, thoroughly worn out by the day's events.

Everything started long before noon as first ships started to arrive into the port, each of them bearing several men and women aboard. The guests were greeted by a crowd of Berkians impatiently awaiting an occasion to meet a distant member of their family or a friend from another island. Ever since the war with the dragons had ceased, those welcome parties have changed their mood quite significantly – before, the first words one would hear upon arriving to the central island of Helheimsvegr were sure to form a question about somebody's wellbeing. Phrases expressing concern for those who might have died during the last month's raids would often even precede polite salutations. Now that the circumstances altered, the pure joy of seeing those who managed to come resurfaced as the main aspect of those reunites.

Travelling between the seven islands wasn't really a difficult thing, nor were those journeys particularly lengthy, but they still required several qualified crewmen to operate a vessel and thus a casual visit to a neighboring land wasn't a quotidian opportunity for most. Therefore, every time the Helsvinir's leaders gathered, the delegations would take several superfluous people aboard to grant them the possibility of coming onto Berk.

Despite it being the vital point of Helheimsvegr, the island wasn't rich. Yet on the day of Samnaðr festivities started with the first incomer and only ended after last of them boarded their homecoming ship. Mead Hall was always full to the point of disabling anyone inside from doing a step in any direction, even though many of the visitors opted to omit those common feasts and enjoy a quiet homestead sojourn by their relatives.

Every time he saw the massive crowd glutting his village, Hiccup thought that must have been how Berk looked like before the war, back when overpopulation of the islands made the Vikings spread onto every piece of colonizable land nearby. The number of people present exceeded this quota only during really special occasions – consisting mostly of, though not limited to, the shows held in honor of officially accepting new recruits into the warriors' community. There was certainly nothing like a dragon-slaying party to draw general attention. Until recently, that is – the peace made with dragons called for a major change in the system of training new recruits.

Some unintelligible words were flowing around the young boy as he reminisced the vast turnout on the day when he had been supposed to kill a Monstrous Nightmare in order to seal his position as the best dragon-fighter of the youngest warrior generation. He smiled at the thought that the very event had taken place merely hours after Astrid had taken to him-

"No!" It wasn't before Stoick's voice shook him out of it that he understood trailing off led him to closing his eyes and thus succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion when he needed to stay alert and presentable. For once thankful for his inconspicuousness, he lightly slapped himself in the face. It did little to help him, so he reluctantly grabbed a cup standing in front of him. It was still almost full, this being a perfect illustration of his keenness on drinking. The content stopped being pleasantly cool hours ago, but he didn't care for the taste or, much less, "the buzz". Instead, he used the bittersweet tang of mead with its sharp aftertaste as a proven method of keeping himself awake. Almost doubling over in reaction to the stinging in his throat, he swallowed two gulps and immediately felt the world around get back into focus. A quiet chuckle escaped his throat at the realization of the irony behind this effect.

"It is much too early to consider such steps," a voice ringed from the opposite side of the giant hall. Having located the speaker, Hiccup racked his brain for a while to finally pinpoint him as the keeper of Flekkr, the smallest island in the whole archipelago. Try as he might, however, he couldn't match the face with any name. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long to find out.

"When won't it be, Gunnarr?" The angered question came from a huge man occupying a place just a few seats away from the Berkian leaders. At first glance, most would bet he was the Chief's brother – neither of their bulks could possibly be matched by any other Viking's, present or not. Though it was indiscernible while the two were sitting, Stoick was marginally shorter, but he fully compensated it with musculature. The main difference in their appearances was also the most superficial one – Hallbjörn, for that is how the man was named, had a pale blonde hair – as opposed to his counterpart's auburn ones. His beard was also trimmed in a strikingly different way, leaving whole cheeks bare.

Oh yes, and he ruled Eydra – second biggest island and, even more importantly, the one where first settlements were constructed. As listening to (or, actually, eavesdropping on) meddlers was an old habit of Hiccup's, he had a pretty good idea of how living there affected Vikings' egos. Allegedly verbatim relays of Hallbjörn and his companions' claims about "him being the one that should lead Helsvinir" and "Eydrans retaining most of the common ancestors' characteristics" were an ever-returning topic in Mead Hall gossip. Hallbjörn had always been loyal to Stoick and not once stepped forth with an official demand at replacing him, but it didn't stop many from believing it was only because he knew he wouldn't find many supporters.

"After we have regained some of our strength," Gunnarr replied calmly, ignoring his interlocutor's scornful tone. "It's not even been half a year since a centuries' long war ended and already you want to engage our people in a new one?"

"What else do you want to do? Learn to sew?"

"He is right," said Stoick, directing his words at the arouser. "The continuous struggle we've gone through has left our numbers dwindling. As it is now, we could easily fit on two islands, not seven!" he added with emphasis, drawing several anxious glances from different places around the huge table. Reduction of the living space would mean some serious changes in hierarchy and those for whom it meant weakening their position obviously weren't too thrilled about such an idea.

This, of course, wasn't enough to quiet the zealot. "Our ancestors only had Eydra for themselves and yet somehow they managed to send parties out several times a year." His derogatory voice filled with venom when he continued, "Obviously you have forgotten what it means to have a proud Viking ancestry, but back on _my_ island-"

"Shut your mouth!" barked Spitelout. As unexpected as his standing up to a superior in command was, he had a good reason to do so, as accusing anyone of losing the Viking spirit was one of the harshest known curses and often led to duels which ended no sooner than one of the participants died. Preventing Hellsvinir elites from shedding their own blood and spreading dissent amongst themselves would justify even worse actions - and besides, the titles of Eydran leader and Berkian second-in-command meant almost identical privileges, so his behavior didn't call for a reprimand.

In spite of glaring daggers at his silencer ostentatiously, Hallbjörn adhered to the order. A woman on a far side of the table used this as an opportunity to speak up, probably seeking to relieve the tension a bit. "I support Stoick. We have everything we need to ensure our peaceful existence until we're ready to strike again." Hiccup paid no mind to her words, caught in between the three arguing men, but those causing his uneasiness didn't share this inattentiveness.

"What is it with you people?" exclaimed Hallbjörn, slamming his fist onto the table. He then swiftly rose from his seat and leaned forward, looking several people around in the eye sternly. One or two dropped their heads, but most just stared back. "Vikings are not _meant_ to live peacefully! Has the rest of Miðgarðr forgotten about us, it's high time to let them know children of Hel are still a power to be reckoned with! Now, who's with me?"

His answer came from the same woman, probably feeling compelled to continue the discourse once she got involved. "We haven't had any contact with outer world for decades."

"Centuries, actually," said Stoick. "Sit down, Hallbjörn."

"Alhildr made a fine point," another man joined the discussion. "How do we know all those years of constant fighting and manslaughter haven't left us far behind in fighting techniques and tactics? What if, after reaching distant shores, we will be welcomed by an enemy superior in every possible aspect?"

After the Chief's command, the Eydran leader toned his voice down, but responded unwaveringly. "We will crush them as we have done with every other opponent. Didn't you hear war is what induces progress? We should be the best there is!"

"This rule only applies when both sides endeavor themselves to invent a way of outsmarting their adversaries," countered Gunnarr. "Besides, have you observed any progress around during your life?"

Hallbjörn silenced for a while, then his expression fell. Flekkr's commander nodded lightly without showing any satisfaction.

Seeing this as the perfect time to do so, Stoick declared, "That's settled then. Until we get in touch with outer world, no further decisions can be made."

After a silent moment, the defeated man cleared his throat. "I admit to having been wrong in my view of foreign politics," he announced. "Nonetheless, I insist on sending a scouting party as soon as possible. If we're delayed at the moment, there's no time to waste in catching up with the world."

Stoick nodded. "Agreed. But we must give some thought to how we are going to prepare the participants. And, more importantly, pick those who will be trusted with this mission."

"We obviously cannot send them without any cover," concurred Gunnarr. "A group of exiles from Norvegr seeking asylum in other country?"

"That will be easy to see through," yet another Viking argued. Hiccup identified him as the leader of Smáþrir, but the name escaped him again, just like it had with Al… Aldríf? Alfrún? He shook his head disappointedly. He was certain he knew the names of every island's commander, but found it impossible to recall some in his current state of exhaustion both mental and physical. "We don't even know who their current ruler is."

"And this explanation would be a powerful clue as to where they actually came from, should anyone remember our history," echoed the currently nameless woman.

"May I suggest assembling an anonymous merchant crew?" said Spitelout. "No one should prevent them from entering their lands and if we choose people capable of holding their tongues, the investigation into oversea culture might go unnoticed."

Gunnarr bowed his head lightly in recognition. "Sounds foolproof to me." A choir of confirmatory voices backed him up.

"It's decided", concluded Stoick. "But we will have to equip them with respectable trading goods. How does the situation look?" He didn't need to add that the question was aimed at every leader.

Hiccup sighed, temporarily losing interest in the adults' words. As far as the tradition of Samnaðrs went, the incoming vessels carried not only people, but also various supplies meant for "trade". Those were the things that could be spared on one island, but stood a chance of helping other's dwellers much. Berk, for instance, was constantly supplying its satellites with wood because of the other lands' shortage on this particular resource. Justly distributing whatever has been made available was part of the chiefs' task and this part of the dispute never ended before a unanimous agreement has been reached.

The procedure playing out before the boy's eyes was therefore part of the meeting's typical schedule. Taking turns dictated by seating position, every leader would list items brought to Berk and announce further surplus or scarcity of any other material on their island. Subsequently, everything would be divided between those in need and taken back home by returning commanders. The only difference introduced now was that one more cache began to be created, this meant to set the new plan in motion.

The quiet observer forced into himself another mouthful of mead to forfend the sleepiness lurking in the back of his head. Why the leaders decided lucubration was an adequate form for their monthly congregation was beyond him, but since it has been labeled as "tradition", there was no easy way of altering the situation. Sunset had been the sign to leave Mead Hall for every man not invited to the conference. Roughly an hour later, the conversations had begun – mixed with each of the participants inebriating themselves heavily. That was another thing Hiccup couldn't quite understand: why would the ones responsible for the welfare of the whole nation dampen their mental powers while disputing matters of uttermost importance? Still, he had to recognize the fact that despite ingesting large quantities of strong beverages none of the drinkers showed any sign of intoxication. Perhaps courtesy of the mood – serious political debate had nothing to do with the merry quaffing occurring round this table throughout the preceding day.

His attention was brought back to the matters at hand as his father rose up from his place in another customary gesture. Every time he ascended it meant a new speaker would be allowed to present their case to the Samnaðr. Countless times during the last few hours, Hiccup would tense and begin repeating his speech silently in anticipation of being appointed by his father, but the Chief always named someone else. Therefore, this time the boy willed into his thoughts the perspective of not being called forth… And still heard a tiny voice in the back of his head, expressing the hope of it finally happening.

"With this taken care of, let us return to less cosmopolitan business." This could have meant anybody… his son as well. With the tension nearing its unwanted climax, seconds of silence were turning into hours. "Kolbrandr, the floor is yours."

Once more let down, Hiccup entertained an estimation of the amount of plans, ideas and problems demanding Helsvinir leaders' attention every month. He knew exactly how they were relayed to his father: approximately three hours before sundown, as whole Berk filled with celebrations, he sat alone at an isolated table in the back of this place – it was enough for Hiccup to twist his head around to see that certain niche behind him. Such a position guaranteed almost perfect privacy, especially with the powerful background noise created involuntarily by the lot of Vikings enjoying their company. During this period, Stoick's six subordinates approached him one after another and presented causes they personally supported. He listened to each of them, but never expressed his opinion on anything, nor did he create a written list of any sort. Whether the proposition presented to him would be brought forth stayed an unknown until the very end of the meeting.

From what Hiccup gathered (his knowledge based mostly on Snotlout's boasting about _his_ father describing every Samnaðr to him, in detail) it wasn't a rare occurrence for some of the important things to be left without proper discussion when dawn broke, thus creating a need for prolongment – and since the meetings were only held during nighttime, the whole day's routine repeated. On one hand, he hoped that would be the case this time as well, because it would save him from addressing this formidable assembly in his present state of drowsiness. On the other, he could already feel his interior being eaten out by the accumulated nervousness and those twelve hours which would have to pass until a new sunset drew the leaders together once more would surely be filled with mental torment.

"Thank you, Stoick." Kolbrandr turned out to be the hitherto anonymous Smáþrir's leader. "Today I have but one proposition to make; it is, however, of sheer significance. As some of you may be aware, it was a custom of our forefathers dating back to Helsvinir's earliest days to allow those most experienced and wise to influence decisions determining Helheimvegr's future with their lore. Let us once more introduce our Elders to Samnaðrs!"

Despite trying his best to keep up with the conversation, Hiccup soon lost the thread. The adults were arguing over the matter in their usual way, making far-drawn assumptions, forming sophisticated opinions and expressing all sorts of emotions through impeccably polite sentences. Little as the boy knew about politics, he found this to be one of the most cultivated skills amongst those involved in it – the ability to tell someone you disregard or even hate that they can kiss your seating place, replacing those words with phrases like "please" or "thank you". And if this tradition was so rife in their hermetic little world, it had to be worse than a nightmare outside it.

He winced at a sudden outburst he heard to his right, recognizing the voice as his father's but missing the meaning of his utterance completely. Something about "unsittable conditions"? Unsuitable. That had to be it. But what…?

His head gained so much weight he could hardly believe it hadn't yet broken loose from his neck. And, for some reason, none of the people gathered around were visible anymore, though their muffled voices could still be heard somewhere in the distance. Only after that sunk did he realize he'd inadvertently closed his eyes and almost lain on the table, supporting his temple with a loosely clenched fist. Opening his eyes was a herculean effort, but he managed to do it – and found that, to his utter bewilderment, the whole table started spinning round while he hadn't been watching. That was it, he needed another gulp of alcohol if he wanted to at least understand anything going on.

The stein in front of him was empty.

There was more than a pint of strong mead there, for Odin's sake! He couldn't have… there had only been those two mouthfuls before Hallbjörn started his angry quarrel, another one a little later… Maybe one or two before those three. And no more than two afterwards. Or…?

He groaned peevishly, understanding he'd added intoxication to his somnolence.

"…changed since the times of their youth, what use would we have of them?" someone's emotionless question pieced together in his brain.

Hiccup knew he used to have been taken over to other islands occasionally by his father, which probably meant he'd met several Elders, but he could hardly recall anything from that period, especially people. His customary "overattentiveness" in listening to conversations taking place around him did little to extend his knowledge on this subject. There seemed to be a veil of mystery surrounding those aged personae, making them something of a taboo to speak about.

His own experiences were of no help either. He's met Berk's Elder time and again, but there wasn't anything to be learnt from those encounters – all he's gathered was that her seldom used name was Gothi and she barely ever spoke up. Even in appointing him as the victor of dragon training's finishing fight, she had not uttered a single word. Were the others like her in this aspect, he couldn't agree more with whoever said they would be of little use during these fraught discussions.

A vivid image of the old lady formed in his mind. She was incredibly short and even though there was her age to blame for that, it couldn't have been the only culprit. Even in her younger years, Gothi must have been a midget. What diminished her posture further was that she always walked bent almost in half, using for support a stick so long it completely threw the proportions off. One of her eyes seemed not to be able to open fully, giving her a weird facial expression. And she said "Hiccup!" in a surprisingly manly voice. Then, as he stared at her in disbelief, she punched him in the arm lightly – at least it would have counted as "lightly" for anyone besides Hiccup.

He regained consciousness with a start, but his eyelids still felt as though they were made of lead. Before he had time to identify Spitelout as the waker, another part of his mind managed to provide a distraction by resuming its activity right in time for him to hear his name being announced by Stoick.

Mighty Odin, was he really just appointed to speak right now? All the words learnt by heart have long vaporized from the boy's memory, driven away by sleep and alcohol. He stood up slowly, searching hectically for any acceptable way to open his speech with. How did the others begin theirs? It didn't help either that all the eyes were trained on him, regardless of whether they expressed interest, lack thereof or simply mocked him for looking pathetically weak and small amongst the elites of Helsvinir.

"Uh…" he stuttered out, then understood that once he managed to start talking, he shouldn't stop. "Excuse me if I'm not really-" the right words were dancing just out of his tired mind's reach, "-proficient in my, uh, speech…" Disgruntled mumbling resounded around, hinting to him that he was making a fool of himself in front of the whole Samnaðr. He risked a quick glance at his father and immediately regretted it, as the Chief's features clearly showed his discontent at the faulty oratory.

Nearing the brink of defeat, he pushed his endurance to its limits, forcing onto himself a quick composure and deciding to stick to the basis in hope that it would somehow flow from there onwards.

"About half a year ago, you have all witnessed the fight with that enormous dragon we lured out of the nest," it could have been better, but the fluency kicking in helped greatly in drawing attention from the listeners and diminished his drowsiness a bit. "It served as a proof of what I wanted to make clear before that event – that the dragons only posed a serious threat to us because of their… them being somehow subjected to that, that giant thing. In fact, they turned out to be quite friendly towards us."

"We know that, lad," interrupted Hallbjörn. "That's why we agreed upon the pact of nonviolence."

Hiccup didn't let that comment hamper him. "Of course. But I believe it's time to go a step further. The dragons can be coaxed into carrying riders, especially young ones. It is not a difficult process, but requires confidence gained through experience. And it's not the only-"

He was suddenly interrupted by Gunnarr. "Elaborate, please. Despite it having been a topic of interest among us several months ago, the level of detail provided wasn't quite satisfactory as it came secondhand. This being a first occasion for the matter to be presented by someone with hands-on experience, I believe we would all deeply appreciate a deeper insight into how well the taming works for Berk."

The young speaker shrank almost visibly upon hearing the incommensurably eloquent utterance, but kept a straight face. "Once more, it's pretty much what I wanted to get to," he pointed out, letting a hint of ire to be audible behind his words. No previous opening speech had been cut in on and the different approach towards his one began to make him feel disrespected. "Furthermore, the term 'taming' shouldn't really be used when talking about the bond between us and the dragons. They have proven to be indubitably intelligent and proud, so referring to them in terms of animals – or, even more so, beasts – is no longer justified."

Someone burst out with laughter. "Come on! You're starting to sound as though you meant to say they are equal to us!"

Clearly, being allowed to speak without disturbances was a privilege yet to be earned for him. Not sparing a thought to who said that, Hiccup answered levelly. "Equal? Maybe. And maybe they are even superior." This evoked a general fit of hilarity. For a moment, the hearty bellows of a score of Vikings filled the great hall, echoing in its large, empty spaces. "Seriously!" he yelled when, after a moment has passed, the merriment started to die down. "What do we know about them to judge them as inferior?"

"We know how to effectively fight and kill them," Hallbjörn pointed out.

Gunnarr was next with his linguistic perfection. "There isn't a tiniest shred of evidence that they can form complicated battle tactics," he backed up the Eydran leader. "Nor is there a reason for us to believe they possess any ability to communicate between themselves with anything more than inarticulate roaring or growling."

"They're incapable of forging, building or otherwise creating anything," Alhildr joined in.

Another arguments followed from various people, getting more mocking and derogatory each time – to the point at which Hiccup was unable to contain his irritation anymore. "A year ago you thought them to be mindless, bloodthirsty beasts!" he yelled. "Look how far that's gotten us," he added scornfully.

"That's different, Hiccup," Stoick spoke up for the first time since introducing his son to the gathering. "Acknowledging that the violence directed at us wasn't a result of the dragons' conscious decision was easy after seeing them ally with us against the giant, but it's not enough to accept them as a species to be compared with humanity. There need to be solid, concrete facts to base such a theory upon."

"Fine, I give in," the boy answered with his hands held up in a defensive gesture. "It is not what I've come here to speak about anyway. I admit openly that whatever knowledge we have about dragons is scarce at most – well, save for the fighting part," he added with hope of getting a chuckle from the others, but as an almost immediate repetition of Hallbjörn's words, the effect was poor. "Nevertheless, even this handful, pieced together over few short months, might turn out to be quite useful for the whole Helheimsvegr, not only Berk. I'm not going to present it here, as despite its incompleteness it would take too long. Besides, much of this can only be passed on in a form of supervised exercises. And **t****hat** is the core of what I wanted to speak with you about," he paused for a moment, both for the dramatic effect and to arrange the next sentence neatly. "I would like to pay a series of visits to all the islands in order to teach their dwellers. I request nothing more than approbation for the cause and a place to stay during every sojourn. Over the course of a week or two I will do my best to educate a selected group of people as best I can. Hopefully, once those few master the new skills and knowledge, they will be able to continue spreading them in their home while I proceed to another land."

A widespread chorus of susurrations followed as every leader communicated with their most trusted advisors, usually sitting right next to them. Those grey eminencesrarely spoke during the gatherings, rather than that passing their thoughts on to the leaders, conferring them about their doubts or sharing a critical standpoint on the matter being discussed. They weren't of course prohibited from joining in loudly, but usually chose to show their respect for the leaders' higher position on the social ladder by staying silent.

As the quiet exchange of thoughts went on, Hiccup felt his exhaustion returning with doubled force. It stayed in line for a long time, unable to overcome the utter nervousness brought forth by his performance, but now sought to take what belonged to it. Fortunately, before a need to search for a way to avoid falling asleep became inevitable, Hallbjörn broke the silence. "I agree fully with the proposal presented, finding no flaw in the speaker's reasoning," he declared, surprising Hiccup with a vote of complete support.

"I concede," added Gunnarr. "We could use whatever knowledge Stoick's son possesses to help ensure safety of our homeland once the scouts return with reports of Miðgarðr's current potential and we start drawing long-term plans."

With the two first voices in favor of the proposition – especially coming from personalities so potent and experienced – a unanimous decision has been reached without a need to revote.

Stoick stood up once more and everybody fell silent without him needing to ask for it. "Very well," he said, looking at his son warmly for a moment. "Two days after you go back home, Hiccup shall set out – by this time I expect a proper accommodation to be prepared for him on Eydra. For the duration of his stay on any island, he is to be seen as a rightful member of the Samnaðr and treated accordingly, having my complete approval for the actions he is going to undertake."

The boy had to give it to his father: he was a master in his profession. In two sentences he managed to voice his support and establish Hiccup's strong position for the extent of time his tutoring journey would last, but to top this, he also sneaked in a compliment to the previously hostile interlocutor by indicating his reign as the first target for Hiccup.

"It is also the last thing planned for today's meeting," continued Stoick. "There are sure to be many things to discuss in a month's time, but for now we're done. Tomorrow I expect all of you to be present while the chosen scouts will be presented with their quest and supplied with materials we've agreed upon. Thank you for your patience and wisdom. Hail!" the exclamation was accompanied by a slam of the Chief's fist to his chest, producing a loud thud.

At this signal, everyone present in the room rose up and copied Stoick's gesture. The result was a sound invoking thoughts of a catapulted stone smashing into a giant's body.

"Hail Stoick!" they yelled in a powerful unison. "Hail Helsvinir!"

And then, as though by a touch of a magic wand, the magnificent assemblage transformed into a small group of casual Vikings, some strolling around the hall, others chatting in twos or threes over unfinished mugs of alcoholic beverages. Stoick, along with Spitelout, positioned himself near one of the four statues aligned in the proximity of the exit. They represented the greatest heroes born in Helheimsvegr and were meant to remind Vikings entering the hall of their proud ancestry, looking at them with faces stagnated in various expressions of mockery or derogation.

Soon, everybody started to head in the same direction. Tired but satisfied, the elites of Helsvinir paid their last respects to the Chief, sometimes engaging him in a short discussion too. Hallbjörn was among the last to quit, bowing his head as he passed his superior. Stoick didn't like the way the man smirked while doing that, but decided to contribute it to the less-than-friendly relation they had shared for a long time. "That makes all of them," he said after the blonde giant disappeared behind Mead Hall's huge gate. "Let's get some rest while we can, tomorrow's a big day," he added with a sigh, making a step towards the door until the second-in-command cleared his throat.

He stopped to look at his sidekick and, after following a gesture he's made with his head, kicked himself mentally.

Sprawled on the enormous table forming the central point of Berk's meeting place was his son, looking miserably in his extremely uncomfortable position. He hadn't yet been prepared for enduring the hardships of night-long disputes and, looking at it from perspective, Stoick had to admit Hiccup's presentation was even more impressing after taking the obvious exertion he must have felt into consideration.

With all the delicacy he could muster, the Chief lifted his sleeping son's fragile body. He'd decided against waking him up for several reasons, the fact that their house almost touched the base of the steps leading to the Hall situated quite low on the list. Turning to see if Spitelout had anything to say about this outburst of fatherly instincts, he was pleasantly surprised to find him gone.

* * *

Pointlessly long A/N ahead. (Warning: Pointless)

Boy, has it been a long break. More than six weeks - and all caused by two simple factors: my school-leaving exams are getting closer (meaning one hell of things to be occupied with) and this whole chapter is one awfully long scene. I don't think i have ever written a single scene this long, much less given it so much thought. Sometimes I struggled for days to write a hundred words, then erased it and started over because I didn't like it.

I've taken quite a few words from Old Norse and sneaked them into this chapter. For instance, Miðgarðr is the original spelling of a word anglicized as Midgard, the final "r" being a typical ending of a male noun without any declination used. Thus, Samnaðr (literally: meeting, gathering) and Kolbrandr probably should lose the "r" - instead of damaging those wonderful-sounding names I left them all in original. I've also translated Helheimsvegr and Helsvinir before - Norvegr is the ON name of Norway. And all the new characters carry historically proven Viking names. (As for the names of the islands, I'm leaving this as a thing to check on for the most hardcore language enthusiasts. I **would** have checked them if they appeared in another story.)

I must say, I'm pretty happy with the way this chapter came out, both with some neat phrases fit here and there and with the overall semi-first person narrative. The one thing that sticks out for the bad are synonyms - I never seem to have a suitable amount of those. So if you think some words were repeated too often, you're not alone in your judgement.

On a side note, the action is very unlikely to speed up any time soon. Some will like it, the rest has a wide choice of other wonderful stories. Hey, if action-free movies are able to make it, so can be my fiction.

I hope you enjoyed - but whatever the answer, I'll be glad to hear it.

Take care and until next time!


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